


Cogas Amantem Irasci Amare Si Velis

by brevitas



Series: Leader of the Muses [6]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Grantaire gets mouthy, Greek Gods AU, I don't know if anybody even cares about that?, M/M, Modern AU, but there you guys go, language I guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2013-03-03
Packaged: 2017-12-04 04:03:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/706323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brevitas/pseuds/brevitas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire gets deliriously drunk and Enjolras does something to fix them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cogas Amantem Irasci Amare Si Velis

Grantaire doesn't get drunk after the movie.

He gets dangerously, recklessly, ridiculously shitfaced.

He sits through a second film with Enjolras, Courfeyrac and Jehan (this one a romance because absolutely no one is capable of saying no to Persephone when he widens his eyes and juts out his lip just so) and offers the sort of lewd comments they would expect. Everyone laughs but Enjolras keeps looking at him, and Grantaire kind of feels like he's suffocating.

He doesn't know how to deal with this so he does what he always does when he's at the end of his rope; he drinks. He retreats to Earth with a goodbye to his friends and a promise that they'll do it again soon and ignores the way Enjolras is staring at him, his mouth set, his blue eyes appropriately haunting.

Grantaire feels sick.

He goes to the first bar he finds because he can and settles himself in at the counter for the long haul. He never gets this drunk anymore, not since the big catastrophe of 1971 when he'd been so out of control that he'd shed his mortal disguise to prove a point to Courfeyrac and accidentally killed three humans who had walked past. Mortals couldn't bear to look at gods in their full glory and they'd simply ignited and smoldered, not even a skeleton to confirm their existence. The consequences had been painful, and Enjolras hadn't looked at him for weeks afterward.

But tonight he feels like pretending nothing happened and that requires a generous barkeep and plenty of booze; he finds both here, in a bar he doesn't know the name of, in a country he's fairly sure is America. He drinks, and he drinks, and he keeps to himself and he tries to drown the sight of Enjolras, a few inches away, his warm breath stirring Grantaire's dark hair.

He drinks some more.

By two am the bartender cuts him off and tells Grantaire he needs to call someone to get him, but he waves off the proffered phone and ends up setting his forehead against the counter. Since he's not drinking the man leaves him alone and Grantaire sighs, narrowing his eyes. His vision swims and he feels like he's about to throw up so he does the only sensible thing he can and groans, "Persephone," into the sticky wood.

"Wha'dja say?" The bartender has reappeared and is frowning down at him, worried that he's unconscious. Grantaire wishes he was.

"I called a friend." The man looks incredulously at him because he knows Grantaire doesn't have a phone but moves down the bar when a patron from the other end calls for a refill. It's all the same to Grantaire, who's fighting the urge to just conjure another beer to his hand (but that's playing with fire, and he doesn't know if he can stand Enjolras looking at him anymore).

The door opens and shuts behind him and there's a warm, delicate hand on his shoulder, squeezing just enough to prompt him to raise his head. Jehan is there, bundled up, a scarf wrapped tightly around his neck that clashes terribly with his pink floral sweater. Grantaire manages what he hopes is a smile and sighs, "Thank you."

Usually it's Courfeyrac who Grantaire calls and Jehan knows that something is different this time because he was the one roused from his bed instead, so he's frowning when he pitches his voice lower and asks worriedly, "Are you alright?"

"Sure," Grantaire says, moves as though he's going to get down and pitches forward instead. He nearly whacks the guy sitting to his left and laughs when Jehan straightens him up, apologizing to the stranger. He hustles Grantaire outside, one arm at his waist, but Grantaire is built like a boxer and he's all muscle. Jehan is panting by the time they're away from any streetlights, and flushed when he takes them both to Olympus.

Transporting someone else is not a difficult thing to a god, but it certainly gets harder when their companion is drunk and clinging to their oversized sweater like an orphaned sloth and Jehan's heart tightens painfully when he realizes Grantaire is crying.

"Oh, my _dulcissimus amicus_ ," he says softly, falling back on their old language, the Latin like a lullaby against Grantaire's hair. He's too heavy to carry to his room and Jehan only brought them to a foyer so they sink down together to the floor, messy and graceless. Persephone strokes his hair and Grantaire mourns for something that hurts terribly to lose.

+++++

It takes a while for Grantaire to get a hold of himself, the alcohol bleeding away in his system. Gods go through the mortal liquor fast and he hadn't had the presence of mind to remember to bring a flask of ambrosia; within the hour he's started to sober up, and while he's stopped crying he doesn't let go of Jehan. A dark part of him is embarrassed over this display of emotions but he got a look at the poet earlier and realized he was crying too, hurting only because his friend is hurting, and felt a little better about calling him. 

He takes a deep breath, Jehan still murmuring Latin into his ear, half of it indecipherable. Grantaire has lost the tongue the most out of all his siblings, and is proficient now in only a few languages (and that thought reminds him of Apollo, who speaks almost all of them, who finds great joy in learning more).

"Jehan," he says quietly and the Latin dwindles. "I think I'm okay."

He's tentative to let go but eventually he does, and strokes Grantaire's curls back from his forehead. Grantaire never had a mother but he finds himself thinking with a bemused smile that Jehan would have made a great one.

"So, um..." Jehan is wary, and looks down at Grantaire like all he wants to do is care for him. "...do you want to talk about it?"

Grantaire snorts and shakes his head, dries his face with the heels of his hands. "Not really." But he only lives up to that for a few minutes, and then he says calmly, "I hate Enjolras."

Jehan blinks and frowns a bit, but remains quiet. Grantaire trundles on, gaining fervor as he speaks. "I hate him. I really do. I hate him and his blue fucking eyes, and his revolutions, and I hate how he likes my paintings and how he let me pick the movie and I hate how he made me think he was about to kiss me, that fucking jackass." He throws up his hands and is too involved in his tirade to see how wide Jehan's eyes go. "I hate that he just fucking ignored it and invited you guys in and I hate that he wouldn't even say anything to me about it, not even if it was an accident or if he meant it or--Christ." He's drained when he says, "I just hate him."

But he doesn't, not really. Hating Enjolras would be outside his nature; it's implausible. Jehan keeps rubbing circles into his back and he knows it too. Grantaire is and will always be Enjolras' disciple, no matter how hard Apollo kicks him.

"Maybe he was embarrassed," he offers, and Grantaire groans.

"Who the fuck cares? I'm embarrassed. I let that fucker lean in and I even would have kissed him and I fucking know better." From many, many mishaps. Grantaire is well-schooled in the art of Enjolras.

Jehan is friends with both Enjolras and Grantaire and like most of the Amis, can't stand it when they fight. He thinks this has an easy fix, if only the two of them would sit down and be honest. "Well, maybe he thought that he screwed it up, and that it was just a moment that passed," he points out, and Grantaire kind of hates him for being logical. "I mean, he isn't really aware of your feelings about him and he's probably nervous about ruining a friendship if he read it wrong."

Grantaire is quiet, but Jehan knows he's thinking, and allows him his peace. The only sounds in the front foyer are them breathing and the distant calls of a few nocturnal birds.

"...what do I do, Jehan?" He tips his head back to look up at him, his eyes shadowed, his mouth a hard line. "Either I gamble or he does, and I'm tired of always losing the bet."

Jehan nods sagely, because Grantaire's right; he's begun many of their fights by being too honest, or speaking too soon, and it's always him that has to leave Olympus for a few weeks to let everybody cool down. It's unfair, but it's difficult to tell Apollo that he's wrong and prove to him that you mean it.

"Then maybe you should just act like nothing happened." Grantaire blinks at him, and Jehan smiles. "Act normal. Let him make the first move, and if he doesn't, then it could have been an accident; if he does, then you know he really meant it."

Grantaire grins, says earnestly, "Jehan, you are the biggest doll," and kisses him on the forehead. Jehan giggles but he's pleased, and Grantaire finally climbs determinedly to his feet. He helps Jehan up too and straightens his sweater, clasping him on the shoulder. "Thanks for the talk, and for bringing me home."

Jehan smiles pleasantly, says, "Anytime," and means it. Grantaire thinks he's lucky to have such good friends and blows him a playful kiss on the way to his room.

+++++

The rest of the night passes easily, and dawn arrives with streaks of colors across the bottom of the sky. Jehan keeps quiet over what happened with Grantaire and as far as everyone knows, nothing has changed; they have breakfast and Grantaire is his usual self, spiking their eggs with vodka when no one's looking, getting Courfeyrac to laugh himself sick when he realizes it first. 

Enjolras is there too but he's quiet, and he watches Grantaire with the intensity of a huntsman, barely touching his food, declining orange juice when it's offered. When Grantaire heads out Enjolras gets up to follow, and Jehan can barely restrain himself while he watches the blonde duck into the hallway.

Grantaire has made good progress and is nearly to the corner when Enjolras calls, "Grantaire!" and he stops as if jerked on a string, turning around to look at him. His expression is impassive and it makes Enjolras uneasy, and he pockets his hands when he catches up with him so as to not flutter them around and betray his nervousness.

"Uh, good morning," he says awkwardly, and Grantaire chuckles.

"That's what you made me stop for?" He asks, looking bemused when he shakes his head. "Good morning to you too, Apollo."

Enjolras blushes because he doesn't know how to do this, and it's terribly uncomfortable for him, and he's tired because he could barely sleep at all last night. Grantaire looks... fine. In fact, he doesn't even look hungover.

"No," he says quickly, fumbling for what to say. "I just wanted to..." He purses his mouth. "I just wanted to apologize for last night, that's all."

Grantaire's eyes shutter and he's defensive when he says, "Excellent. Apology accepted." He turns to go and Enjolras grabs his forearm because that's not what he meant at all, and Grantaire flinches like he's been hit. Enjolras only digs his fingers in harder and Grantaire finally looks up at him, cool-eyed and distant. It's a defensive mechanism Enjolras has seen a thousand times before, when Grantaire is hurt but refuses to show his vulnerability.

"Stop," he breathes, takes a step so they're much closer and Grantaire squirms but doesn't move back. Enjolras, who has always been so good with words, finds himself at a point where he can't figure out what he wants to say.

So he falls back on old words, words that tumble out of him like a confession, and says, " _Nunc osculari te volo_ ," so quietly it's almost a whisper. Grantaire frowns but before he can ask what the hell that means Enjolras kisses him.

It's something like it would have been last night but softer, and ferocity grows within a heartbeat; Grantaire's shock keeps him innocent but when it fades he sets in with teeth and tongue, grabbing Enjolras by the waist and pulling them flush. Apollo's surprise presents itself in a quiet moan in the back of his throat and it draws goosebumps up Grantaire's spine; he's never heard Enjolras make a noise like that and he greedily drinks it in.

There comes a distant call of, "Enjolras!" and they spring apart, Enjolras blushing furiously, a few points aching at his hips where Grantaire had grabbed him. Grantaire looks positively enthralled and Enjolras debauched, and he barely has time to straighten his crooked shirt before Combeferre walks out of the kitchen, obviously expecting his friend to be farther away. 

He looks at them curiously, flicks his eyes to Enjolras' rumpled shirt and Grantaire's satisfied expression, and turns on his heel. "Sorry," he says, trying not to laugh, "I wasn't aware I was interrupting."

Enjolras looks back at Grantaire who only grins, waves one hand towards Combeferre and watches Apollo jog to catch up with him (it's obviously something important if he came looking, and Enjolras can't afford to get behind on the Egyptian revolution). Grantaire folds his arms across his chest and grins a bit to himself, his mouth still tasting like Enjolras, all honey and heat and a little flavor of spicy sausage from breakfast.

He reasons that even if Enjolras comes to regret this later, even if he never speaks of it again, Grantaire will always have the kiss; and, feeling jubilant, turns to walk to his rooms and so he can paint (inspiration in the contagious form of a kiss--sounds like the plotline of a movie Jehan would love).

**Author's Note:**

> ah I thoroughly enjoyed writing this and it's so late so I'm just posting it and vamoosing woohoo
> 
> also this chapter actually has some legit notes!  
> what Jehan says to Grantaire when he's consoling him, "dulcissimus amicus" means "sweetest friend"  
> what Enjolras says to Grantaire right before kissing him, "Nunc osculari te volo" is "I want to kiss you now"
> 
> title comes from Publilius Syrus and means "you must make a lover angry if you wish him to love" which you know, struck me as very e/r
> 
> so that's it, hit me up on tumblr if you want, leave me comments or kudos if you want me to squish your face and love you, so kisses to all ya'll


End file.
